A poem by Warren Parker
It will not make much difference friend, 100 years from now
If you live in a stately mansion, or a floating river scowl.
If the clothes you wear were tailor made or just pieced together somehow
If you eat big steaks or beans and cake, 100 years from now.
It won’t matter what of your bank account, or the make of car you drive
The grave will claim all your riches and fame, and the things for which you strive.
There’s a deadline that we all must meet, noone will show up late
It won’t matter all of the places that you have been, each one will keep that date.
We will only have in eternity, what we gave away on earth.
And when we go to the grave, we can only save the things of eternal worth.
What matters friend, the earthly gain for which some men will bow?
For your destiny will be sealed you see, 100 years from now.